


ascending to a higher plane of madness

by sidleupandsmile



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Purple Hawke, background bethany/isabela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidleupandsmile/pseuds/sidleupandsmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe he’d been a little naive when he’d taken up this particular little job, but there were days when Varric thought the monotony of being Viscount was going to drive him insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ascending to a higher plane of madness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrogues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrogues/gifts).



> I had an awesome time writing this and I think it came out really organically. I hope you like it as much as I do!

Maybe he’d been a little naive when he’d taken up this particular little job, but there were days when Varric thought the monotony of being Viscount was going to drive him insane. The sheer number of documents that “required his urgent and most immediate” attention were enough to make the most hardy man run for the hills. Hell, they might even join the Qun while they were out there. 

Normally, Varric would talk his way into delegating this sort of task to one of his underlings, because wasn’t that what money was for? Paying someone _else_ to do the dirty work, then bringing him only the things that really were urgent and needing immediate attention. 

Bran had been a bit more stick-in-the-mud-like lately, pushing him to do more work, to focus, to stay on task, perhaps recognizing that Varric was getting a bit restless with Hawke out of town and Aveline too busy with surprise midsummer raid drills. 

Varric let out a low groan as the pile of papers on his desk seemed to never get smaller, no matter how many he set in the box to be taken to the barrister’s, completed and signed. Instead of attempting to make further progress to the infernal pile, he pulled open the top drawer of his desk and checked the letter he’d received yesterday, yet again, running his fingers over the words that told him that Hawke would be back by the week’s end. He only had to survive until then, and then he could take some time off to spend with her before it was back to the daily grind. 

He turned back to his work with a sigh, getting through another one of the small piles, before he glanced up with a frown, hearing a bit of commotion from the outside of his office. It wasn’t entirely atypical for the Keep, but most of the minor squabbles that took place inside didn’t include Bran’s shouts of utter indignation, the sounds of scrambling feet, and the echoing laughter of the two guardsmen assigned outside today. 

“What the...?” he started to say, about to get up to investigate when the door to his office was knocked open, and he was greeted to the sight of _Hawke_ striding through the door, Bran on the ground, reaching out for her ankle to stop her but just missing, and the door quickly closing behind the woman, leaving just the two of them in the room. 

“You know, this year, I lost my dear, _dear_ husband Bran. It was such a tragedy, Varric. The funeral was so beautifully solemn, my mourning veil impeccably made. It was the talk of the town,” she told the Viscount as she moved closer to his desk, the man looking awed that she was here, amused that she’d decided to go with that story, and a bit horrified at the thought of whatever Bran’s retaliation would be for the punch (he assumed, given the way the man had been cradling his stomach from his position on the floor) that had knocked him over long enough for Hawke to slip through and seal the door against his entrance.

“Quit telling people I’m dead, Hawke,” Bran exclaimed from behind the barred door, a loud thump echoing through the chamber, likely that dear lost “husband” slamming himself against the wood in a futile manner. 

“Sometimes, I can still hear his voice,” Hawke continued as the angry mutterings continued from behind the door, her face the picture of mourning and sorrow, looking all the world like she dearly missed her close and wonderful friend, Bran, who had never once thrown his brand of dry, irritated sass her way. Never once blocked a door so she couldn’t get by, and wasn’t now enjoying the very picture of ‘turnabout is fair play’. 

That is, until she opened one eye a sliver to see Varric straining not to laugh, and she burst into a fit of delighted giggles, breaking into a run for the last few strides to throw herself at him, mouth meeting his as they kissed. 

“I missed you,” she said after they broke away, one arm still around his neck, her body maneuvering to sit across his in a way that wouldn’t leave all her weight on him, looking down at him with a bright smile. “I know I said I’d be a few days, but, well, I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me very surprised,” he replied with a smile, his hands firm at her sides, pleased to have her in his arms again. 

“I know you are a very busy man, Viscount, but I was hoping perhaps you might be able to break away for dinner?” she said, her tone mock serious when she spoke his title

He grinned, patting at her backside playfully, enjoying the giggling shriek that it elicited from her lips. “For you, I would put aside anything.”

If the way she kissed him in response was any indication, she was quite pleased that he’d said yes.

* * *

* * *

* * *

A few scant hours later, Varric was seated across from Marian at his dining table, in the ridiculous residence they’d set up for him when he’d taken the position of Viscount. It had sat empty for a while, while he’d been off in Orlais, and empty again because he’d taken to sleeping in the Keep when Hawke was away. But now that she was here, it was filled with the sounds of servants milling about, tableware clattering against plates as they ate, and the distant echoing squawk of a kitchen maid getting walloped by the cook for testing the sauce with her finger then going back for more. (It was a good sauce, he completely agreed with her assessment to keep going back to it.)

“I heard from Bethany not too long ago. She’s doing well. Enjoying the sea air. The letter was rather short, I’m sure Beth didn’t want to get into the details of her fun with her sister,” Hawke told him, getting the conversation started, her fork poking at her plate idly for now. 

“Aw, that’s good to hear. There was a letter going around a few years ago about Rivaini’s band of pirates, I saw the Inquisitor with it a few times, seemed to like reading the stories. I think the phrase used was ‘notorious raider trash’,” he told Hawke with a soft smile. “But I’m sure it’s been cleaned up since then, if Sunshine is travelling with them.” 

“Now, remember, the Queen of the Eastern Seas is likely to be my sister-in-law by year’s end, if the two of them keep it up. I’ll have no querulous insults to family,” Hawke teased with a grin, taking the bite off of her fork and chewing through the smile. 

“No, no, I would never _dare_ insult family,” Varric assured her with a laugh, shaking his head a little bit at the heinous insinuation. 

“I wonder if that will make Bethany a Queen Consort?” It was an idle question, not meant to be answered, but still. That would be one hell of a title for a little Hawke mage from Ferelden. The sort of title that Hawke herself would play up to its fullest, a much grander and more welcome addition to the family than ‘Champion of Kirkwall’. 

“I’m sure it will be a _beautiful_ pirate wedding. Fine white sails. An impeccably dressed First Mate, the one with most of his teeth, to officiate,” Varric retorted, snorting into his glass of wine, although it was a fond sound, born of thinking of the adventures that were had when Rivaini and Sunshine were around. 

“Ooooh, I might be able to get a discount on those fancy cakes she brings in from Afsaana if we’re bound family!” she continued with a laugh, tucking into her food with gusto, as if there might be some of the aforementioned cakes waiting at the end of her meal, should she only arrive at it. 

Varric let out another gentle noise before turning to do the same, watching her carefully, like she might disappear if he looked away for too long, like she was the entire world and he had to capture her in his mind before she was lost. 

Hawke was a bit oblivious to his gaze for a moment, eating her dinner and making the odd comment about her trip or some of the people she’d met along the way around a mouthful of tuber or meat. But after a while, she noticed he wasn’t really replying to anything she said. She slowed the movement of her fork, swallowed the last bite she’d taken, and looked over at him curiously. “What? Something on my face?” 

Varric was moderately surprised at being called out, or perhaps surprised that he’d gotten so lost in her that he’d _needed_ to be called out. “What? No, I--I just--I suppose I was just realizing how much I miss you when you’re gone, Hawke,” he said, trying to keep his tone even, from maybe saying too much. They’d never been ones for serious conversations, their senses of humor too aligned in the sarcastic for that, instead preferring to show how they felt with actions. He didn’t want...well, there was a lot he didn’t want. 

Hawke paused, setting down her fork and getting up to sit next to him rather than across from him, ignoring the wide-eyed look of ‘what in the Maker’s name are you doing’ on his face. “I love you, too, Varric,” she told him once she’d sat back down, staring into his eyes, her expression also a bit wary, like she was mutually afraid she was stepping over some sort of line. 

His jaw dropped a little with shock, because she’d actually said it, she’d said the ‘L’ word, casually, in the middle of dinner. 

And she’d said it _first_ , not as a friend or a companion. But the weight of it was clearly that of a lover. 

Then he broke out into a broad grin, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his mouth so he could kiss the back of it, smirking a little as a flush broke out on her cheeks. 

“Well, how about that.”

Maybe the paperwork _had_ driven him mad and this was all a dream. 

But if it was, it was one _hell_ of a dream, and he’d happily only get madder if it meant he could spend his life with her in one form or another. If only he could _tell_ her that, but...well, he’d get there. They both would, one way or another.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [cazzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cazzy) and [Cor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen) for reading through it and offering me advice <3


End file.
